From Mt Kudo With Love
by kabukimono
Summary: In Yukimura's time of exile, his drink and his sister-in-law are his greatest comforts. Mature fic, contains sex and mentions of blood, death, and drinking.
1. Lust

Author's Note: this is Yukimura/Ina fic, though not quite romantic! Based somewhat on the conversation that they have in SW: Chronicles when Yukimura's at Mt. Kudo.

This fic does involve sex, blood, and a bit of drinking, so read at your own risk! And the formatting is intentional, before anyone asks.

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><p>exile.<p>

it might as well have been a death sentence, but worse. his honour, broken. his spirit, gone. far removed from those whom he remembered and loved.

those who were living, anyway.

his father had finally passed away just the previous month, of both illness and old age. yukimura had been beside himself with grief, and though the alcohol he drank - one of the few supplies he had more than enough of - numbed the pain, it had yet to alleviate it completely.

ina sent food, supplies, and clothing every day. he was thankful to her, because she made his exile tolerable, though she only packed in new books every once in a while, and wrote letters and notes that were present in nearly all of her packages.

she herself saw him far less.

when his father died, yukimura's brother and sister arrived for the body. they stayed the night, the warmth and presence of other people a comfort for yukimura he didn't know he'd needed until he'd moved his bedroll closer to nobuyuki's sometime after midnight, as he had done when they were children.

thankfully, neither nobuyuki nor ina had said anything the next morning.

they hadn't said much at all, but had taken the casket with his father's body, and ina had promised yukimura she would return within a month's time, patting his face gently after his brother had left the small cottage in which he was currently living. he'd closed his eyes and let her do it.

the morning before her scheduled arrival yukimura spent the day cleaning, repairing the torn paper in the sliding screens that separated the rooms, replacing rotting lumber in a corner of the small porch that wrapped around the house. he didn't drink for once, something he thought she would be proud of.

she arrived, just herself, without either of the children and without his brother, though she'd brought a servant to help her carry the supplies she'd brought.

enough supplies for an army, it looked like. he smiled at her as they bid each other hello, a hollow movement that hurt more than it helped, and he helped ina and the servant bring in the boxes and crates just for need of something to do.

blankets. books. candles. lamp oil. enough preserved food to last him through the next winter. he couldn't help but be grateful, as awkward as it felt. as painful as the lump that grew in his throat was, when he noticed the box of his favourite food.

ina...

he corrected himself. "sister," he said once it was just the two of them, her servant already leaving to return to ueda. "you need not trouble yourself with this."

she had been warming a pot of food in the tiny kitchen of the cottage, and glanced over at him, eyebrow raising. "what are you saying, yukimura? this is no trouble at all." her look was concerned, almost pitying. he... found himself hating it.

he shook his head, rather than say anything more. it wasn't worth spoiling their little time together.

after dinner, he drank, for the first time that day. he knew she disapproved, the way her lips curved downward and her brows furrowed, but she said nothing, this time. for once. it made things feel a little better, and he kept his eyes on hers as he took a long drink, as though to see what she'd do.

his drinking was steady enough that he was hardly drunk by the time the sun disappeared over the mountain, leaving him and ina alone in the dark, but the pain and the discomfort he felt had been dulled into something of a haze. almost pleasant. almost, as pleasant as he could feel these days. he felt hot, a heat that couldn't even come close to the fire that had raged within him on the battlefield, a fire that had been extinguished with the death of one of his closest friends. but it was enough, for now. the heat was a different sort now, one that was confusing as much as it was liberating.

it was just as liberating when he leaned his head against ina's shoulder in the darkness, letting her cool fingers trail over his fevered skin, though his damp hair and down the back of his neck. she was radiant in the dim light that shone through the high windows, as radiant as his brother had always said she was, and he closed his eyes against that brightness.

her voice was low, soothing, careful - as though she were speaking to a wild beast and not to her brother-in-law. he sat there, mollified, and listened to her speak, until he recognised the words of a lullaby he'd heard to say to her children before. the realisation made the lump in his throat return, and he tried to swallow it away, reaching almost automatically for the bottle of wine he'd left not too far away.

she caught his hand, and her fingers curled into his own.

"you've had enough," she told him, gently but firmly, her voice very close to his ears.

maybe he had. but the haze inside of him needed fueled by _something._ he wasn't entirely numb. not just yet. he needed just a little bit more...

so he kissed her.

he turned his head to meet her mouth, eyes slipping shut again because they were useless in the darkness as close she was to him, and he pressed her closer still, his hand moving to her lower back, pulling at the fabric of her kimono until it threatened to tear.

he felt her move against him, as though she wanted to pull away - but then she relented, a gesture that took far less time than he had expected, her mouth opening to his, cutting off the lullaby and any protest she might've made to this treatment. her hand, the one that had been tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, moved to his shoulder, clutching him just as tightly as he held her now.

and they continued to hold hands, his fingers refusing to let go of hers until he was sure she wouldn't be able to use a bow until the bruises had healed.

from her mouth, he moved to her neck, allowing her to suck in air with a wet gasp - a gasp that shifted to a moan as his tongue worked against her pulse point, playing with the beat of her heart with his teeth, trying to be careful as to not leave any marks on her flawless skin.

almost flawless.

as he tugged away the kimono she wore, nudged aside far too many layers of red and white silk, embroidered finely with the sanada clan crest, he found scars over her torso, some still red and angry looking, though they felt years old under his fingers. they were an interesting sight to behold, the remnants of her enemies on the battlefield, as though each man had left his signature upon her before she'd killed them.

she seemed self-conscious of them, her hand nervously twisting in the fabric of his yukata even as she pushed it down his shoulder. "you shouldn't look."

"you look fine," he assured her in his own quiet voice, a little slurred with the alcohol he'd consumed. she looked more than fine; he thought her scars were nothing short of beautiful, but he wouldn't tell her as much. he'd show her, dipping his head close until his hair dragged over her skin, his tongue flicking at the scars until he'd payed a homage to every one of them. he wondered if any of them had been left by himself, in the days when they'd fought one another.

she wasn't as careful about leaving marks on his body, her fingers trailing over his tanned skin, nails digging in just enough that it felt as good as it did bad, the pain prickling through the haze of his drink and building in his stomach, urging him to continue forth in the moments where he hesitated, aware of exactly whom he was so carelessly making love to.

this was his sister-in-law, after his. his brother's wife. the woman who'd cared and loved for him as though he was own her flesh-and-blood sibling, had provided him with all the comfort he'd needed during his exile, as much as he wished for a quick, honorable death.

perhaps, the sober part of himself thought, as he leaned his face against ina's chest, her ragged breathing matching his own, the pounding of her heart against his cheek almost a mirror of the pulse he felt throbbing in his stomach, perhaps he was hoping that his brother would kill him for this inconceivable act.

it made him smile to think, and he pressed his lips briefly against the curve of ina's breast before he straightened, moved, his free hand nudging her legs apart so that she could wind them around his now bare hips. he may have been inexperienced, but ina wasn't, and she guided him with her hand, touching his face and his chest before her gentle fingers trailed, her hips lifting of their own accord as though she were begging, body movements louder than her voice was.

his fingers, if it were possible, squeezed hers all the more tighter when he finally entered her, a low moan in the back of his throat nearly masking her noise. pained or pleasured, he couldn't tell, and it bothered him to think of it that way.

he finally let her hand go, let her grasp him around the shoulders, her nails digging into the muscle of his back. he in turn, slipped his arms around her so that he could hold her, really hold her, and she fit so nicely into his arms, her legs wrapping so easily around his hips that he almost felt at ease as he leaned over her in the middle of the floor, not an inch of air between them.

almost.

she was quiet, out of habit or out fear he wasn't sure, but he was thankful for it. he didn't want to miss anything she might say to him, he didn't want to hear anything she might say to him, any encouragement or sympathies or admonishments for how rough he was sure that he was being with her. how rough they were being with each other, as he felt ina's fingernails slick down his back, hot fluid dripping down his spine that he knew - by familar scent alone - wasn't sweat.

but she made up for lack of words by her movements, meeting each snap of his hips with her own, her face pressed against his shoulder. he could feel her teeth against his skin, her tongue and lips joining them, fueled by the fever pitch of their movements and of each noise he made when pain melted into pleasure and he lost control of his restraint, slipping further and further into a white heat with each passing second.

and he'd been worried about hurting _her_.

his restraint - perhaps his sanity - had almost completely gone, his mind a blank slate trapped somewhere between the pain and the heat of their act, and he felt that perhaps in a few more moments he would die... when he broke completely, arching over her with a gasp, forgetting how to breath for a few long moments. it was bliss, for possibly the first time since his exile that he felt sincerely good, and sweet, and perhaps completely dead like he'd needed and wanted and as he struggled to remember how to breathe on his own, chest and back aching from either the act or the lack of air, he slowly became aware of the woman's body underneath his own.

her skin still flawless, despite his ferocity, though slicked in sweat and shining in the faint light. still trembling with her own desire, her hips twitching almost instinctively against his own as she let her head fall back against the floor, sucking in cool air that was heavily tainted with the smell of sex and blood. he'd marked her as surely as any of the men on the battlefield had, hadn't he?

yukimura tried to speak, to apologise for his loss of control, but she pressed a bloody finger against his lips, kept him from saying a word. she smiled; he realised she must have swept her damp hair out of her face, because blood, his blood, was smeared across her exhausted features. he found himself loving that more than he loved what they'd just done.

"don't move," ina told him, and he obeyed, laying his head back against her shoulder as he settled over her again. she had to be uncomfortable, for he was heavier and much taller than she, but she didn't complain - simply folded her legs loosely over his. kept him close.

her hand moved back into his hair, and she started to murmur the lullaby to him again.

and later, again.


	2. Gluttony

Author's Note: Again, mentions of sex, though their relationship as siblings-in-law is emphasised in this chapter. If that discomforts you, don't read!

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><p>yukimura didn't know how long ina had been planning on staying, but as the morning sun rose, shining far too brightly and painfully into their faces, ina murmured to him that she wouldn't leave him that day. the emphasis was not lost on him.<p>

he had a feeling that was because she wouldn't have been able to climb down the mountain even if she'd wanted to.

he pulled away from her, and in the sunlight he could see the clarity of her skin for the first time. she was unmarked, as always, because the little restraint he'd found himself with had gone into making sure he didn't _hurt _her, not visibly, but the amount of dried blood that was flaking off of her shoulders and face was... troubling. disturbing. a sight that he found far too familiar and far too welcoming.

even now, she was modest, and gathered her discarded kimono over her chest as though she were nervous of the way he looked at her, and once she was covered she lifted a hand to touch his face, hesitantly. far too gently.

he snapped out of it.

"ina - sister... i - "

she shushed him with a quiet, gentle noise, her fingers tapping his bottom lip. it felt a little sore.

"please." she said, and her voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and tight as though she'd been screaming for hours (perhaps she had, he couldn't remember anymore). "please." she repeated, as though she herself didn't know what she was begging him.

he left it at that, left _her_ at that. he pulled away from her and away from the tangle of filthy bedsheets and clothes, a mockery of a bridal bed, all white and various shades of red. instead, he went to draw them a bath, because that was the only thing he could think of to do. he needed to cleanse his wounds. they both needed to cleanse themselves. each other.

he didn't think he could look at her straight anymore, and when ina joined him in the tiny bath house, he almost stormed out of the room in his desperation to get away from her. he tried to, at least, but she caught his arm and looked him straight in the face. despite the pain he knew she had to feeling, her gaze was as even as it was gentle. but then he'd always admired that about her, her strength of spirit.

"your back," she reminded him, and he relented, but only just. he very well couldn't bandage his own back, after all. and death by infection was far too prolonged. he'd always wanted something swifter.

they slept afterwards, after he'd folded out fresh blankets and vowed to burn the dirty ones, because he couldn't bring himself to allow her to touch the existing bedclothes. he had to sleep on his stomach, and he woke toward noon to find ina tucked underneath one of his arms.

despite all his reservations, his discomfort his pain,, he let her stay there.

she'd been planning on staying a week, she told him once they'd woken up and he'd eaten, and he looked at her in surprise over his bowl, rice falling from his chopsticks midway to his mouth - she'd brought him a new one. had she realised how much he desperately needed company?

she smiled, and he could see the flash of pain in her eyes as she shifted her legs underneath her. it was nothing, she told him. but the trip was long, and she'd had to carry many things on her way to the mountain. she wanted time to rest. she'd wanted time to see him and allow him to catch up on all the things he'd missed in his exile.

and then she simply said, "nobuyuki-sama isn't expecting to see me back until that time."

he swallowed hard, as though his brother's name - a name that hadn't yet been said once this visit - reminded him of all the crimes he'd just committed.

but as much as he might have enjoyed ina's presence any other time, he simply wasn't used to having company anymore, not like this, and he realised now that in the month since his father's passing his social skills - what little there had been - had all withered and died along with every other thing he cared about.

almost... almost every other thing he cared about. he wasn't sure what to do with himself, but ina helped him, assisting him as he cleaned up his cottage. he tried to ignore the way she limped, the way she couldn't sit down right anymore, the way she winced in pain when she kneeled down to pick something up.

he was sure he'd make it worse later, after all.

they'd said very little to each other all day, nothing aside from quiet instructions or inquiries. his throat hurt, despite several doses of ina's best warm tea. he knew her throat hurt too, and as the day dragged on, he found himself almost beside himself with anxiety at the quiet. neither of them had ever been very talkative people around each other, but the silence was so thick, so uncomfortable, that he wanted to cut it with the spear he'd been allowed - but only _just _allowed - to bring with him on his exile.

he didn't, of course. he didn't even look at it. he hadn't looked at it in a long time, not least because it was painful, far more painful than other things he endured. he had taken care of it out of a warriors pride for a very long time, but for the past month had hidden it away in the room his father had slept - and died - in.

that night she didn't bother to light the lamps for them, and it was only by moonlight that she changed the bandages on his back and covered the healing wounds with a fresh paste that numbed the sharp pain that radiated with each movement he made. he murmured his thanks to her when he thought she was finished, but she stayed where she was, seated on his lower back, her hands running through his hair lightly before they slid down his back. he said nothing, but closed his eyes and let her fingers, sensitive and sore they probably were, work at the tense and torn muscle in his back and shoulders.

he hadn't begun to drink that night.

maybe he should have.

because if he had been drinking, he could have blamed his insobriety on the reason that he rolled over to cover ina when she finally slid off his back. the reason he moved so that he could lay ina out on her back over the fresh bedclothes, letting her dark hair fall against the white of her skin and the white of the futon that was underneath her. the reason he kissed her firmly, murmured a quiet plea against her lips, a plea he didn't know if she heard, a plea he didn't know the contents of himself.

but maybe his lack of drink just meant he'd do it - her - properly this time. hopefully, a lot less painfully. do things right, the way they were meant to be.

she smiled at him under the moonlight and he smiled back at her, emotions running through his body and heart and mind and leaving him as exhausted as though he'd just fought in a battle. his brother had once said that ina could make even yukimura's brooding grimace transform into a smile, and it was true. it was true then and it was true now, and his lips were still curved upward as he kissed her again.

it was warm, and wet, and unlike the previous night, tasted nothing of drink, nor blood, nor tears. just ina, and just himself, and he murmured her name - _name_and not her title or relationship to him. that was the only thing he could give her in this moment.

that, and himself.

if the previous night had been hell on earth, fire and flames, darkness and pain and near-death, a time when yukimura had wanted nothing but to be allowed to die for once, finding solace in the lack of sanity and control their movements had afforded, then... these moments were one of the heavens, things he wasn't sure he even deserved to feel anymore.

her hands were more gentle, careful of the bandages on his back, her fingers threading through his hair and gliding over his face, tapping his lips and eyelids and tracing those lines with her lips.

his throat felt better at least, perhaps because of her tea, or perhaps it was just because the taste of ina's skin healed him as surely as her touch did, and he tested this by suckling at her skin, his tongue curling around a hardened nipple and teasing it, his cheeks heating up at the sound of the noise she made in reply, as though that were any more scandalous then anything else they'd experienced together.

he was careful, of course, no matter how he touched her. he still couldn't bring himself to mark her, to leave any more scars on her delicate skin than he likely already had before, in battle proper. she was a warrior - that was where her scars should come from, not from being in bed with a man who had no business being near her.

from being in bed with her brother-in-law, who was shaming them both even now, opening her legs and settling between them.

last night, he had thought himself inexperienced. and tonight, he realised that he still was, his touch hesitant until she guided him, her hand light and gentle as she showed him where to touch. the intimacy made him flush, and his fingers felt too rough and callused against her pale skin. he half expected to see her bleed as he touched her, and though the noises she made were encouraging, he half-panicked until he realised that she was not, in fact, in pain.

ina had practically giggled when he stopped with his fingers on her inner thigh, pausing to meet her gaze with questioning eyes, as though he were asking for permission. she smiled at him, and spoke for the first time in hours, swallowing to wet her dry throat. "please," she told him, in a different tone than her plead this morning. a different tone that was like a drop of hot liquid in his stomach, warming him from the inside out.

he didn't make her repeat herself this time.

he didn't _want _to make her repeat herself this time.

she couldn't, anyway. not with the way his mouth covered hers again, more firmly than last night and more needy, and the way she responded with breathless encouragement as her hands held his face close. it made him feel more alive than he'd felt in a long time, perhaps ever, and this was a feeling he couldn't remember ever having experienced on a battlefield before.

perhaps _this _was his punishment, for committing so many sins against his brother, and everyone else who had ever cared about him. he was away from the battlefield and would never return to it, and all he would know now is this type of white-hot pleasure that washed over him every moment he spent with the woman who even now encouraged him with gentle fingertips, and nudges of her toes against his thighs.

he'd grow soft. he'd grow old like this and lose his edge and his dignity and the last remnants of his honour would be shattered just as surely as his body had been. if this was his punishment then it was one that he didn't know, in this moment, if he could protest.

he whispered to her, seeking permission and forgiveness and acceptance, and she kissed him for a long moment before she leaned her head back against the futon, her damp hair sticking to her flushed face.

her eyes met his, and the answer that he so desperately sought was all that he saw within them.

yukimura was certain that when the morning light came, he would regret every moment of this. every moment; every gentle touch to the curves of her body, slight or not; every illicit noise their bodies made as they joined together.

if ina had been quiet the previous night, she was far from quiet now. it seemed that every movement of his drew out a noise from her that he hadn't before known she could make, little whimpers that squeezed his heart and moans that made him react instinctively, trying to draw even more of these unknown noises out. she particularly seemed to like it when he had to shift angles to make things easier on his thighs and on her back, if the gasp he made was any indication. he was far too eager to give it everything she wanted and asked of him, it seemed.

he must have been dreaming or he must have been dead. that was the only explanation for this.

it was the only explanation for the tired but loving gaze she fixed on him, the pleased smiles she gave him, the tender way her fingers massaged into his neck and shoulders. it was the only explanation for the interesting feeling in his stomach when ina cried out wordlessly, a sensation he'd never felt before coiling and releasing throughout his limbs. but if this was death, it was far too pleasurable than he'd ever expected - had ever deserved.

a dream then, one from which he didn't yet want to wake.

as he lay over her, frantically trying to catch his breath and his mind,, he wasn't sure if he _ever _wanted to wake from this.

her legs were still loose around his thighs, hands gentle against his face when he came to, and he gave her a smile that almost hurt to give as though it wasn't _just _a smile, but a part of himself he'd ripped away. those legs of hers tightened as she pulled him down against herself, her arms winding around his shoulders like she had previously done before.

before, it had been as though she were soothing a wounded animal, one that had already torn her apart and would kill her at any moment. now, her touches were that of a woman consoling her exhausted lover. something that yukimura knew that he simply did not deserve to be.

he wanted to pull away, to salvage the rest of her stay and her innocence and her _marriage_while he still could, but he was too content and too warm to do so. it was selfish of him, he knew, but the quiet words she whispered into his hair assured him that it was all right to be selfish sometimes.

but only sometimes.

he could have - should have - fallen asleep, but he was sure that doing so would break the dream-like spell that had been cast over the two of them. so he stayed awake, and ina with him, and he spent the long hours until dawn memorising every moment, every noise, and every inch of her always flawless body.


End file.
